


I'm ready, I'm fine

by serraketo



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2014-05-12
Packaged: 2017-12-10 14:15:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/786978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serraketo/pseuds/serraketo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Eames receive some unwelcome news...<br/>(Short vignettes from a relationship)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Counting Crow's 'Colourblind'
> 
> Also first time posting and completely unbeta-ed. Comments for improvement always welcome! :)

Silence reigned as they walked through the door. Eames dropped his keys in the ceramic holder by the door as Arthur slipped his shoes off. Both men walked into the kitchen, following their normal routines without the friendly banter, the cheerful conversation. The atmosphere weighed heavily on them as Arthur reached into the fridge, took a halfhearted sniff of the milk and replaced it again. Eames watched him carefully, the way his eyes kept moving around the house, like everything was new. It only took a moment before his lover noticed, catching his gaze and holding it carefully, steadily. 

"I, um. I think I'm going to go for a swim."

Eames nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, darling, that sounds good. Where to?"

"Maybe Santa Monica? I've always loved it there." He turned towards the bedroom, finally shrugging off his jacket.

This finally gave Eames pause. "Wait, Santa Monica? In January?" He turned to stare at Arthur's departing figure. "Don't be mad, love. You'll catch..." His words caught In his throat and Eames watched as the other man finally stopped.

He couldn't help it. A noise choked out of his mouth and Arthur stared curiously at him through chocolate brown eyes. "Catch what?"

Another giggle. Arthur smiled a fraction, the ends of his lips upturning just slightly. "Catch what? Tell me?"

This time Eames couldn't smother it. He burst out into loud, frantic laughter. Leaning on the bench, he doubled over, whooping with mirth as his breath started catching. All Arthur could do was join in, not sure what was so hilarious but stepping slowly closer to his lover, head tilted with curiosity. He waited as the minutes ticked on, until their breaths were shallow gasps and tears started to form in the corners of their traitorous eyes. 

Blue eyes levelled slowly to brown and Eames smiled once more, sombrely. "You'll catch pneumonia, love."

Arthur snorted. "Well, maybe it'll chase the cancer away for me."

"Yeah..." Eames whispered, barely audible. He blinked away, then back to Arthur's face where all traces of humour were gone. "You don't believe them, do you? You're going to keep trying right?"

"I... I'm not sure anymore, Eames. I just..." He trailed off, his tears finally overflowing, tracing lines down his soft face. "I don't know."

Eames nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat and raising his arms towards the slender man. "I love you, darling. Never doubt that."

Arthur smiled as he stepped into Eames' embrace. "I know that. And right here. Right now, and forever, no matter what happens. I love you too."

 

-Fin


	2. It's getting dark, Darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's coping method fails

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Thistles & Weeds" by Mumford & Sons

The house was too silent, even for Arthur. 

"Darling?" Eames crept into the apartment cautiously, hand going back to rest carefully on the gun tucked into his waistband. "Arthur, are you there?"

A moment's hesitation followed, then; "In the study." Eames exhaled slowly as he relaxed his shoulders and slid out his pistol to tuck safely in the lockable drawer. Shrugging out of the thick travelling jacket, Eames walked through the house to the study. The door swung open easily, hinges kept meticulously greased to prevent squeaking should a need to creep through the house arise. Lying spread eagle on the floor, was Arthur. 

Eames paused in the doorframe to asses his partner through tentative eyes. Arthur, clad in a plain white t-shirt and dark jeans, had propped up his head with a pillow and was contemplating the ceiling with serious eyes. The occasional swig from a mostly empty bottle of scotch punctuated his thoughts. 

"Arthur, darling. Was that bottle full a few hours ago?"

"Hmm?" Arthur rolled himself slightly on the floor, thin shirt rucking up to show slimmer-than-usual hips. "Oh, yes. I needed a drink today. Also, we need to replaster the ceiling. And are you aware we have mildew?" he finished mildly, swigging again and missing the corner of his mouth just slightly. 

Eames followed the dribble of amber liquid as it trailed down the other man's jaw. He crept closer, crouching near Arthur's shoulders. "Is that so? Can't have that in the house of Arthur the great, can we now?" 

"No, we certainly can't. Lucky for you, I know a guy. He can help us out."

"Of course you do."

"And then we'll have to get someone in to find out why the study, of all places, has such bad moisture problems. It's hardly a sauna."

"Hmm." Eames nodded thoughtfully as the conversation lapsed into silence. More and more, the usual snarky banter that characterised their interactions was giving way to this new version of Arthur. Eames privately referred to him as Cancer Arthur, a clone of his lover, but with less attitude, more prone to mood swings alternating between rage at the world and an all-encompassing depression which would leave him bundled in bed for days on end. 

It was heartbreaking to watch. 

And Arthur, being the stubborn bastard he was, refused all medical attention, angrily throwing out pills, purposely skipping doctors appointments. 

"What's the point, Eames?" He'd ask, eyes impassive to anyone else. But Eames knew better. He alone could see the sadness and dejection around the edges of his lover's normally warm, dark eyes. 

"There's a chance, Arthur. There is always a chance. You need to try."

Arthur's eyes always shuttered then. "I don't think you understand the definition of 'terminal', Mr Eames," he muttered coldly. "Terminal means I've been fucked for years."

A shuffling brought Eames' attention back to the present - Arthur had moved to sit up, beck leaning against the hideous winged chair Eames had insisted gave the sleek, modern room some much needed character. 

He took another swig and regarded Eames through alcohol-bright eyes. "You don't think this is important, but mildew and humidity can be real killers in today's property market."

"Wh... What?" Eames spluttered, chest constricting suddenly. "Arthur, darling, what are you on about?"

"I mean when I'm gone." Arthur stated matter-of-factly, looking away. "I want to make sure you get a decent bit of money for this place. You have other places around the world, I don't want you to be saddled by some trendy L.A. house that belonged to your dead boyfriend."

Eames bit his lip to catch the sob threatening to escape, and kept his eyes trained on Arthur. 

Sure enough, moments later, the bottle of scotch dropped to the floor with a loud clunk as Arthur curled up in himself, knees to his chest and head tucked down. He took in a few shuddering breaths. Eames watched as his partner's shoulder started to tremble.

He reached out a hand to rest on Arthur's bony spine. The dark haired man started, looking up through his tears and staring straight into grey-blue eyes. "Eames, I can't... I don't know... How do I..." 

He trailed off again as Eames scooted close and wrapped him in a tight embrace, his own tears flowing freely now. Eames felt another part of his heart fracture, his strong, capable Arthur, the man who could kill a hundred projections without batting an eyelid, who knew the inner functions of a PASIV better than anyone in the world, broken and scared in his arms. Arthur, with his sharp lines, tailored designer wool armour and hidden emotions. Arthur, who could face his sickness for months at a time with matter-of-fact statements, always thinking of the practical side of his own death. Arthur, who on a bad day could still achieve the improbable, the impossible. 

The helplessness of the situation stuck Eames again. For all his forging prowess, in the dream world and reality, for every pick pocketing and thieving skill he'd mastered, here was a situation he could do nothing about. 

So he ducked his head, tucking his nose tight to Arthur's neck, inhaling the sweet scent there. And he whispered the only things he knew. 

"Shh, darling. I love you. Shh shh shh...I've got you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently being unable to sleep makes me write depressing things. Un-betad as usual, and comments always welcome :)


	3. It's a revolution, I suppose.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Partly, Arthur does it just to get a rise out of Eames.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Radioactive by Imagine Dragons

"Arthur, you know better."

He knows better. 

What a stupid fucking statement. 

Of course he knows better than this. Arthur was educated at Princeton, for Christ's sake. He knows the correct usage, definition and spelling of words that Eames hasn't even _heard_ of. He's well aware of his medical condition, how the treatment works, what stage he's up to and what the next steps are. And he knows all of these things in fine, scientific detail, thank you very much. 

None of which explains why he's standing in the kitchen in front of a very irate Eames, trying to vocalise exactly why he'd missed another doctor's appointment. 

"Darling." Eames' plush lips curled around the word, slight sneer playing on his face. "It's bloody obvious that you consider yourself above most people on this planet. But I must ask why you've decided that your body has miraculously cured cancer itself and no longer requires the attention of the _only specialist you deemed worthy of your presence_. You know. The one who costs more for an hour than most hookers make in a month?"

Despite the fact that he's watching anger flash across those beautiful steel-blue eyes, despite the fact he can almost feel the hot burn of anger radiating off his lover, despite the fact that there's a small voice in his head screaming to just apologise, kiss and make up, end this argument easily, here and now, despite all that, Arthur can't seem to stop himself. He lapses back into his most stony poker face (the one he'd been banned from using at home years ago) and shrugs coldly. 

"He's a quack. Every general practitioner knows the kind of 'futuristic experimental' procedure he's suggesting is useless against my cancer."

"Arthur, the man has multiple awards for his research in the field!"

"Yes, well." Arthur puffed himself up a bit and fixed his gaze above the refrigerator. "Research can be wrong, Eames."

A pounding on the bench brought his eyes back to Eames. The older man's fists were clenched as he stared at the bench top, shoulders heaving with heavy breaths as he tried to remain calm. "For fuck's sake, love! Give the man a break! Just because his research is still in the testing phase does not mean that it's ineffective, or not going to do anything!"

Trying valiantly to keep his poker face strong, Arthur scoffed at his lover. "Please! Maybe I'm just done deluding myself, Eames. Maybe I know how this is going to end and don't think there's any point wasting money we could be spending on good times together and making memories, all that bullshit!"

"Oh, of course! Arthur the great knows everything, isn't that right? Arthur can control everything, and now this thing - this ONE thing that you can't control comes along, but you can't help yourself, you just can't _stop_ yourself from trying to be the big man, the master of your fucking fate, no you'll just stop going to the doctors and die on your own terms, right? ISN'T THAT FUCKING RIGHT, ARTHUR?" Eames roared, his face flushing a brighter red with each sentence, accusatory finger jabbing the air near Arthur. "You'll do all of this just so you can say on your deathbed that you're here because you wanted to be - you didn't want the doctors, and you didn't care about your health, and you DON'T GIVE A FUCKING TOSS ABOUT ME."

Silence reigned in the kitchen as the men stared each other down, breathing heavily. Arthur opened his mouth to reply, paused, closed it again. Eames watched expectantly, before continuing in a calmer tone. 

"You know that's what it feels like, don't you? It feels like you don't care enough about me to bother fighting this disease. And you can say what you will about me making this about me and my being selfish again, but the fact remains that it is about me too. I'm here, I'm part of you like you're part of me. Remember our vows? In sickness and in health, love. Till death do us part."

Eames paused to look up and stare at Arthur. Sadness filled his eyes. "Arthur... Do you want to die? Do you want to leave me here alone?"

The point man inhaled sharply, a flash of pain striking through his heart. "Eames... no." He whispered.

"Well then... I just don't understand. Because that's what you're going to do if you keep skipping appointments like this."

"Eames..." Arthur moved to his side, sweeping a comforting hand up his spine and leaning in close. "I'm sorry. Okay? I'm sorry. I love you. I'll do better. I can be better. I'll never miss another appointment again. Promise. Just tell me that you know."

Eames turned and nuzzled their noses together softly. "Know what, love?" He whispered, his breath mixing with Arthur's. 

"Know that I would never leave you on purpose. Not for any reason."

"Yeah. Yeah, I know." Eames leaned in for a soft kiss, lingering closely as Arthur sighed again. Leaning back again, he reached up carefully and cupped his lover's cheek, stroking gently with his thumb. 

"Okay then." Arthur breathed. "Let's go to bed."

Eames nodded and leaned in for another kiss. "Yes. Let's."

\-- fin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My first time writing a chapter for this fic when it's not 2am and I can't sleep. All feedback welcome - it's how writers improve!


	4. God put a smile upon your face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In between the heartache, there's this. Sheer joy and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title is Coldplay - God put a smile upon your face

The days when Arthur was well enough to get out of bed, when he had enough energy to move faster than a shuffle... those were the best days. 

The chemo was hitting him hard; ribs that were always visible now stood out in stark, angular contrast to the creamy soft skin covering them. Arthur's full head of raven dark hair was whittled away to wispy thinness. His graceful, strong hands often now sat weak and unused in his lap, or by his head on the pillow, numbness a side effect of the treatments he's being subjected to.

But that spark in his eyes, the fire in his soul was still there, dimmed by weeks of hiding underneath covers and nibbling only occasionally when his stomach was feeling strong enough to keep food down. It would flare up when Arthur walked downstairs for the first time each day, a small triumph that seemed to remind him _You're still here. You're still going. You're still you._

Eames lived for those days. He spent the bad days planning romantic getaways, sweeping grand gestures of love to remind Arthur why he was here, why he kept fighting. 

They drove along scenic highways, stopping only to stare into the sunset and kiss softly, unhurriedly as the light in the sky tinged them a golden red-orange. They walked through pristine National Parks, holding hands and taking it in turns to carry the picnic basket, stretching out on the flannel blanket and talking for hours among the whispers of the trees. Helicopters through the Grand Canyon, snorkeling among jewel toned coral in the Pacific Ocean, long strolls through the Hawaiian Mountains... Eames spared no expense. 

It didn't matter that where Arthur used to power through a full 24 hours of work, he now needed a break every hour. Didn't matter that even the slightest of hills caused him to lose his breath and lean heavily on Eames as he struggled on. He may spend more time lounging on the beach under a towel and thick layer of sunscreen than marveling at the colours and life among the coral, but then he would smile and every moment Eames spent planning would be worth it.

He knew Arthur worried about the state of their finances - medical bills piled up, specialists seemed to charge by the minute and their house in the suburbs cost more per month than most people earned. 

But the sheer joy on Arthur's face when he looked over at Eames as they hovered above the Colorado River, when Arthur whistled low to himself as he entwined their hands underneath the thick green canopy of forest, when Arthur draped himself over Eames, lying on the beach, drops of salty seawater running down his face and mixing between lips pressed together... that was priceless.

And those moments of happiness and contentment made Eames' heart swell with love. They almost outweighed the days when all Arthur could do was grit his teeth against the pain and chew painkillers that made him drowsy and unintelligible.

Those were the worst days.


	5. I'm on my knees and your faith in shreds, it seems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One missed bill and Eames' life is turned upside down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Thistles & Weeds" by Mumford & Sons

Eames sighed as he hunched lower over the desk, the tall candle not giving nearly enough illumination for the fine print on each bill as it slipped from his fingers. It had been 3 months since the fateful afternoon they got the news and he can't remember the last time he slept through the night, not woken from dreams of death or from Arthur's sickly wet coughing.

The bills had started slowly - the first consultant's bill was low, considering, but since then there have been numerous appointments with oncologists, neurologists, GPs, experimental procedures, tests... Each one more than the last, slowly eating away at their combined savings.

It wasn't even that they were short of money, not after inception and the quiet fame that followed. The problem was keeping up with each payment as it was due, making sure nothing vital slipped to the bottom of the pile. The oncologist was necessary, as was the GP. Their home phone line, less so - so frequently were they out at clinics, teaching hospitals, universities and the like that they barely had time to listen to the various voicemails left by work friends and colleagues. 

Electricity, Eames had been sure was moved to the 'Arthur will kill me if I forget this' pile... Yet here he was, sitting in near darkness, reading by candle and trying hard not to let himself be swallowed by anger at his stupidity. 

Up until a month ago, Arthur had been in control of the finances. Point man Arthur, who never missed a single stray dollar on a mark's credit card statement, never forgot to set electronic payments. The kind of man who would rather die than pay a bill less than 48 hours before the due date. But the drug trial he'd booked himself onto at the time (read: threatened the life of the lead scientist) had some major effects on his short term memory and attention span, and no one could deny that he no longer had the ability to keep up with each new letter as it arrived in their mailbox. 

Without warning, the door to the study flew open, revealing a quietly smouldering Arthur. Eames swallowed hard – the last time he’d seen that face, a man had lost his kneecaps… in the real world. 

“Eames,” Arthur began quietly, his voice wavering just slightly as he tried to keep his temper under control. “We don’t seem to have any electricity.”

Briefly, Eames debated the chance of success he would have if he just launched out the window, but dismissed the idea instantly. Arthur's grudges were legendary, and he had no intention of making it onto that list. Again. It had taken years to end that disagreement, and that was long before Arthur had the threat of no sex to hold over his head. 

Instead he smiled softly and held his hands up in a clearly placating motion. "Yes, darling. I thought we'd try some mood lighting for a bit, see what it does for the old love life, eh?"

His lover's eyes flashed with barely concealed fury, though his features betrayed nothing but slight annoyance. "You forgot, didn't you?"

Eames exhaled the breath he didn't realise he was holding. His shoulders slumped as he closed his eyes. "Yes, darling."

"Last week you told me you were on top of everything."

"I know, and I was. Just this week... I can't even find the damn bill anymore, but I swear that I slipped it on the top of the pile-"

"I can't believe I thought you could do this." 

Eames' eyes shot up to Arthur at this, anger blazing through him in a burning wave of heat. "Arthur," he began softly, trying his damnedest not to let the waver in his voice betray his feelings. "That's not fair at all, you know I'm trying my best-"

"Your best isn't good enough, Eames! Jesus!" Arthur was striding towards him now, stopping on the opposite side of the desk and bracing his hands on the edge, leaning forward to get his point across. "This isn't just one slip, Eames. You missed the gas bill 3 weeks ago too. I had to pay that while you were out last week."

Eames deflated, recalling that he couldn't remember paying that bill. But the gas had kept coming through the pipes, so he'd just assumed... Incorrectly apparently. 

"This household used to run like a well-oiled machine, Eames. I have never missed a bill since we bought the house, and I'll be damned if I'll let you start fucking up our financial position now."

"Do you hear yourself speaking, darling? Do you?" Eames stood abruptly, the motion throwing his chair backwards into the bookshelf with a satisfying thud. "Our financial position indeed! You have no clue about our financial position, Arthur, not a fucking clue since you started treatment! You've barely been here, always out seeing new doctors, meeting professors, trying to keep yourself from thinking in any kind of emotional level about what is happening to you!" He strode around the desk, moving directly into Arthur's face, negating his personal space with a sharp poke to the chest. "Let me give you the brief, _darling_. We have spent the largest portion of our savings. Almost all the money we earned post-Inception is gone. In our joint account, there is less than $300,000. In my Swiss account there's no more than $100,000 and your Cayman account is empty. So tell me, Arthur. How does that gel with _your_ impression of our financial position?"

Arthur's face was shocked, his eyes suddenly darting around as he tried to remember each of the secret accounts he had setup over the years. Eames read his mind at once. "Yes, Arthur. You DID tell me the account location and numbers of each of your old accounts, and yes, they have already been emptied to keep us going. We're running short of funds now, and short of going back to work, I don't know how we can keep up with everything."

Eames watched carefully Arthur brought his thoughts back into line, the lines on the younger man's thinning face deepened ever so slightly as he tried to school his face into blankness.

After a moment, Arthur stepped back. "Right then." He nodded once, twice, then quietly stepped back out of the room. Eames slowly stepped around the desk and took his seat, reaching into the hidden shelf to take a swig from the bottle of scotch there. 

\-----------------------

Eames couldn't say how long he'd sat there for, staring into space and willing the hidden safe to spontaneously fill with cash. It was pitch black when he finally shook himself out of the funk, and the house had probably been silent for hours. He padded through the house, calls of Arthur's name echoing through the rooms and hallways. 

The note was sitting on the kitchen bench. 

_C,_

_It was selfish (and not to mention foolish) of me to think that I wouldn't drag you down with everything that's been happening. You have done nothing but love and support me, and I have appreciated and treasured every moment of our time together but I can no longer stay here with you. There is so much potential in you, and you have so much more to give to the world of dreamshare, it's not fair of me to hold you back._

_Just... Don't take any jobs with Faulkner. He's a lying bastard and he still hasn't gotten over what you did in '03. And Sophie, stay away from her. In fact, just stick with Ariadne. I taught her well and she hasn't managed to piss off the number of people you have._

_I will always love you. Please don't try and find me._

_A_


	6. [Interlude]

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never receives a response, but Eames won't let that stop him.

Text messages sent from Eames' phone 

\------------------------------------

February 4 2013   
23:47  
The hospital called. Your appointment is Friday at noon. Please be there.

23:48  
In case you were wondering, I won't be there.

23:48  
Not that I don't want to be there.

23:49  
I'm just honoring your wishes. 

\------------------------------------

February 7 2013  
10:02  
Please don't forget your appointment tomorrow. 

\------------------------------------

February 8  
11:16  
45 minutes. Please be there. Promise I won't be around.

12:20  
Hospital called. Where are you?

13:18  
Arthur, this was an experimental procedure. If you don't call them within the hour, you'll be off the trial.

 

20:18  
I know you didn't call them. I respect that you asked me not to try and find you but that doesn't mean I can't try and keep track of you. 

20:19  
What were you thinking?

20:19  
This trial was your best hope yet and you've just thrown it away.

20:20  
You insufferable twat

20:21  
Yes, that was the censored version of that message

\------------------------------------

March 1  
22:31  
I miss you.

\------------------------------------

March 5  
22:58  
This has got to stop Arthur. I don't even know if you're alive anymore

23:00  
No, you are alive. You have to be. There isn't a world that exists where you are dead but I continue to live.

23:00  
Just a text. Please.

23:04  
Please, Arthur.

\------------------------------------

March 28  
21:32  
A sign. God help me, I'm asking for a sign. Just something to let me know you're alive. 

21:32  
You don't have to talk to me. You don't have to come home. 

21:32  
It doesn't even have to be right now. 

21:32  
Fuck that, of course it does. You have a week, Arthur, one week.

21:32  
Then I'm coming to find you. You know I have contacts who can track anyone. Maybe even you.

21:36  
Be in my peripheral vision. Please. Let me catch a glimpse of you while I'm at the shops. 

21:36  
Or walking Miles.

21:37  
I have a dog now. Named him Miles. Always liked that name for a dog. 

21:38  
You'd hate Miles. He's messy and likes to lick.

21:38  
A bit like me, I suppose. 

21:38  
No reaction? Worth a try.

\------------------------------------

March 31  
23:15  
I can't keep doing this. Talking to you like you're actually reading these. 

23:15  
But I don't know how to do anything else.

23:16  
Literally. How did you manage to fuck me over so royally, hmm?

23:16  
A world without you is dull, darling.

23:16  
I saw a shrink the other day. Can you imagine what that was like? How can I tell her everything when I can't even tell her what I do for a living?

23:16  
She told me to stop messaging you. Some bullshit about letting you go and moving on.

23:16   
I told her to shove off. You're not dead, after all.

23:17  
Are you?

23:18  
Arthur, for Christ's sake, give me something! Give me a reason to keep... feeling.

\------------------------------------

April 3  
10:06  
Just saw a man in a grey suit walk across the road. Corner of Abbot & Hartley street. Looked like you. Was it?

10:07  
I like to think it was.

\------------------------------------

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a desperate need to write but it had to be short and sweet. Then my mobile buzzed. So I'm trying my hand at writing text messages! Yay for expanding as a writer...
> 
> P.S. In my mind, no matter how horribly Eames dresses, he still has a great regard for the English language and would never stoop to using text speak. He does, however, ignore the conventions of punctuation and grammar sometimes.


	7. Once upon a time somebody ran

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "Princess of China" by Coldplay

Arthur twitched and snuffled in his half-asleep trance as the beginnings of the sunrise peeked through the crack between the curtains. He tried to fall back into the cosy slumber, but gave up as the heat of the day began to make his skin prickle with perspiration. Rolling his back to work out the cracks that developed from sleep, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror hanging on the other side of the room.

Three months. It had taken only three months to wear him away into this skeletal version of himself. Arthur tugged his shirt back down to cover his prominent hipbones and ran a hand over the pasty skin of his face. His dark hair was untamed on his head, ruffled over the course of the night and sticking up at all odd-angles. It was still early in the treatment, but his usually thick locks were slowly fading away in patches, frustrating him as he tried to comb it under the rest of it.

Arthur was just debating the merits of staying in bed all day when a loud voice pierced his attention. "Hey prick, are you up yet?"

"No, fuck off!" he shouted back to his sister.

"Well if you're not down here in 10 minutes, I'm going to eat all the food and you'll have to fucking starve!"

Arthur groaned and rolled out of bed, stumbling a little as he got caught in the ankles of his sweatpants, now loose enough to bag around his feet unless he tugged them back up constantly. _Almost time to start investing in a new, smaller-sized wardrobe_. He shuffled his feet downstairs to where his ever-charming sister was waiting with a plate of pancakes and bacon.

"Morning, ass-hat."

"Morning, skank." Charlotte smiled up at him from her spot at the bench. "Coffee's fresh, help yourself." She gestured to the coffee pot in the corner with her fork and Arthur shuffled his way over, breathing the rich scent in as he poured a mug. He'd forgotten how much he loved the feeling of being at Charlotte's, one of the very few places in the world he ever felt totally safe. They'd always been close, but after the car accident that killed their parents had seen the siblings move across the country to live with their Aunt, they'd become inseparable. _Art-and-Char,_ Aunt Debbie called them, _my head and my heart_.

Arthur drank deeply from his coffee as he sat down next to Charlotte, and the pair chewed in silence, watching each other carefully, sizing each other up.

Charlotte broke first. "You know, I love having you here Art." Arthur snorted and raised an eyebrow at his sister. "But it's just that it's been three months and apart from two sentences as you rolled in with your suitcase, you haven't told me what you're doing back here in the middle of ass-fuck nowhere."

“I’m getting treatment.” Arthur couldn't help the grunt that punctuated his pronouncement as he speared a bit of bacon more viciously than intended. 

“Which you obviously couldn’t get in any of those big cities you usually frequent?”

“It’s complicated.”

“Then how about you try and un-complicate it for your darling dimwitted sister?”

Arthur spared her a glance and snorted at the forced innocence he saw there. Charlotte was without a doubt the most devious person he'd ever met... besides himself, of course. She had the dubious pleasure of being the only person in the world who could could make Arthur feel guilt through sheer adoration and love. Or at least she had before Eames had stumbled into his life. 

He sighed, knowing that this conversation had been 3 months in the making, and if Charlotte didn't get her way now, there was no way she'd stop until she had every answer to every question in her funny head.

“... There are a lot of people in those cities who would be happy for me to continue without treatment. And there’s not much chance I could stay in those cities without those people finding out. So I needed to be somewhere where no-one from my profession would ever come looking for me.”

Charlotte’s fork froze momentarily on it’s way to her mouth as she processed it. She blinked once, then continued eating. “Okay. So you’re a mobster?”

Arthur tugged at the baggy collar of his t-shirt. “No, but what I do is not legal. Strictly speaking.”

“Strictly speaking?”

“Or even loosely speaking.”

At this, Charlotte let out a loud whoop of laughter. “Well fuck me! Little straight laced Arthur is a criminal! Mom and dad would be _so proud_!” She gave him a wide smile and dug into her pancakes again. “Well then, brother-mine. Why did it take you so long to come out here?”

Arthur grimaced. “Well, Char. There’s this guy.”

The clanging of Charlotte’s fork hitting her plate echoed around the small kitchen. She closed her jaw quickly and followed up with “There’s a _WHAT_?”

“I’ve been seeing someone for a while now and-“

“How long is a while?”

Shrugging, Arthur refused to meet his sister’s eyes, becoming intently interested in the goings on of the neighbourhood outside her kitchen window. 

“Um. A few years now. We met at work.”

Charlotte held up her hands and closed her eyes. “Art, you’re going to need to give me a few minutes here. First you tell me you’re a criminal and are possibly wanted by other criminals in a lot of cities around the world. Then you mention you have a boyfriend. _And_ you’ve been with him for years and never bothered to tell your loving, well-wishing and never judgemental sister about him. _And then_ you go and tell me he’s a criminal too.” She inhaled calmly. “Is there anything else you’d like to mention to me.”

Arthur huffed a laugh. “... we might be married?”

Stunned silence reigned.

“What do you mean _might_?”

“Well. We were in Kenya for a job and-“

“No wait. I changed my mind. I don’t think I want to know.”

“Okay." Arthur chuckled at his sister’s horrified expression. “It’s a pretty funny story actually. I’ll tell you next time we go out for drinks.”

“Assuming there is a next time.”

And just like that, the mood was sombre again.

“Okay. So this guy...?”

“Eames.”

“First name or last name?”

Arthur smiled softly to himself. “He’d have you believe it was both.”

Charlotte took in the smile and nodded carefully. “Where is he?”

Looking anywhere that wasn’t meeting his sister’s gaze, Arthur nodded back. “I left him at our old home in Santa Monica. A few months before I came out here.”

“And he’s why you didn’t come out straight away? Because this is the first place he would have looked?”

“Yeah.”

"So he's special enough to you that you'd not only keep him around for a few years, but you deigned to tell him about me too?" Arthur nodded, eliciting a low whistle from Charlotte. "Wow, Art. Hold him close and don't ever let him go."

"I wish it was that simple, Char." The two sipped their coffee in companionable silence for a few minutes. 

 

"So what are you going to do? I mean... I know your job is _dangerous_ so I'm guessing you can't stay here forever, can you?"

Arthur dropped his eyes to his plate. "No, I can't. Eventually someone is going to come after me, and I can't put you at risk." He looked up through his lashes at Charlotte, who nodded thoughtfully.

“You should call Eames.”

“Not an option. I left for him for his own good. I was a burden, and he didn’t deserve to be held back and tied down. He’ll be better off without me.”

“But you’d been together for years. Sounds like he was okay with being tethered to you.”

“You don’t understand. I’m weak and I would put him at risk. In our business he’s just as well-known as I am, and that’s far too dangerous.”

"And you don't think he's capable of making that choice for himself?"

"Char. Eames isn't like me. He's... he's like you. He loves so much and so hard that he can't make a rational decision about our relationship anymore and it's going to get him killed." He looks up to find her assessing him carefully, eyes narrowed.

"I wonder if you're ever going to learn that there's no such thing as 'rational' when it comes to relationships."

"Of course there is." Charlotte shrugged as she got up and walked into the kitchen and rinsed off her plate.

"You're all brain - thoughts, analysis, planning are all second nature to you. But you never think about emotions. About why he loves you. Have you ever asked him?"

"No, I know why he loves me. We have very similar life goals, we're both competent enough that we trust each other when working, we're compatible as partners in business and as friends, and there's obviously the physical side of things."

"That's it?" Arthur’s eyebrows knit together as he considered.

"Yeah. What other reason is there to love someone?"

Charlotte threw her hands up in the air. "Oh, I don't know, Art! Maybe your cologne reminds him of his favourite teacher at school, or the way you make him laugh reminds you about his childhood pet that he used to have adventures with. Maybe you make him feel good about himself and that’s exactly what he needs in his life. Maybe your stuffy, uptight personality blends so well with his that you’re basically one person now.”

"Those aren't reasons to love someone. Those are just delusions about love that we have forced down our throats every time we watch a romantic comedy.”

"Of course they are! They're some of the logical reasons to love someone."

"Didn’t you just say there was nothing logical about love??”

“No, I said that there was nothing rational about love! And you're a robot, Art. I love you, but God help me, you're an honest to God machine sometimes, I have no idea how you continue to function in this world.” She sat back and fixed him with a withering look. “Do you love him? I mean, really love him in a stupid roses and chocolates and Meatloaf ‘I’d do anything for love’ kind of way?”

Arthur snorted “No, but-“

“Arthur.”

He rolled his eyes. “I suppose so.”

“Does he make your life happier? Do you show those cute dimples of yours when you’re around him?”

“Yes, but-“

“And you’re married?!”

“Technically, but-“

“Well then, Arthur-Fucking-Darling. Go call your fucking boyfriend and haul ass back to his place _right fucking now_. Because you’re an idiot who doesn’t know the first thing about emotions and messy things like love and I’m here to tell you that clearly this guy sounds like he’s good for you and since he’s been able to keep up with you, he’s clearly not a dumb guy and he can make his own decisions. You’re a fucking ass-clown.”

Arthur slapped his hands against the bench as he pushed his seat back. "Great talk. Char. You have a real way with words that makes me feel wonderful about myself."

"Yep. Now get lost. I've got a friend coming to stay in a couple of weeks and I'd promised her the guestroom." Charlotte stood behind her own chair, arms crossed and eyebrow cocked, and Arthur felt his heart swell with a deep love that he hadn’t felt for a few months. He swooped forward suddenly and planted a kiss on her cheek.

“Thanks Charlotte. I think I needed that.”

“You did. I was actually serious about my friend though, and this seemed like a good time to bring it up. Besides, you’ve got a bed being kept warm by a pretty special man. Go back to it.”

Arthur hummed his agreement. “I’ll pack and get my treatment and files transferred so I can be out of your hair tomorrow.”

“Great. Well. I’m off to work. So I’ll see you tonight, right? Final dinner together, I’ll get beer.”

Arthur couldn't help his nose crinkling in disgust. “I’m more of a wine person these days, you know.”

“Well, I’ll get wine then, you pretentious fuck.”

“Not the cheap kind?”

“Oh, you know me. I’ll get the cheapest.” Arthur groaned and made his way back upstairs to start packing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is as good a time as any to mention that I have no medical knowledge whatsoever and have only done a basic google search on the effects of cancer on the body. Sorry for any inaccuracies, but hey. That's why it's fan _fiction_ , not fan-fact.
> 
> Also Charlotte is based on this woman, because HAVE YOU SEEN [THIS WOMAN](http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/09/24/joseph-gordon-levitt-doppelganger_n_3982902.html)!?!? WOW. That's awesome.
> 
> RANDOM WRITER RAMBLE:  
> So, when I wrote the first part of this, I didn't really think I'd turn it into a proper work. I kind of didn't think anyone would read it. And while I'm well aware that it's not the best piece of fanfiction out there, I'm really enjoying writing this, and my brain clicks over during random points in the day while I think of snippets of conversation that Arthur and Eames could have or how their relationship built up. So it's becoming a proper WORK. Which of course means I should actually sit down, work out where I'm going with the story, fix up the timeline and the chapter order and such and be a proper write about this (not just someone who randomly posts a quick chapter at 3am when I'm feeling bored and miraculously inspired to do so.) 
> 
> I moved around the world to live in London a few months ago, and it's taken me until just this very week to actually get settled and feel like it's HOME, hence why I haven't posted a single thing on this for AGES. But with my new found freedom in London and no pesky housemates always using my laptop and looking over my shoulder, I fully intend to start working on this properly and hopefully create something that I'm proud of and that members of this fandom enjoy. And then from there I hope to start writing more and getting better at what I do and really enjoying it. 
> 
> So what I'm trying to say is, Sorry for keeping you waiting if you're following this story. I'm going to try harder to make something good for you and I'll be doing my best to post regularly and clean things up (like Chapter 3 (or is it 4?) which makes no sense if this story is being read chapter to chapter. 
> 
> Thanks for reading - and I'll post again soon :)

**Author's Note:**

> Each chapter is unbetaed and usually written within an hour or so when I feel sudden inspiration.
> 
> Comments and concrit always welcome :)


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